Upshot
by Jaylee1
Summary: If there was one thing that lowered him to the use of baser instincts it was the sight of Potter. (HD, Slash)
1. Default Chapter

Upshot, Part 1  
By Jaylee

* * *

Draco Malfoy believed that one of key elements separating wizards from the common muggle was the use of utensils, or rather the use of the wand, to settle a dispute, instead of the more primitive and utterly plebeian use of fist and brawn. After all, any garden variety primate could throw a punch, but only a wizard-- or witch-- could throw a hex.  
  
He knew that explaining this phenomenon to Ronald Weasley, however, would be an entirely wasted effort. One, because such concepts were undoubtedly above his mental capability of understanding, and two because the red-haired Neanderthal was currently content with throwing a slew of blows his way. Besides, Draco could take anything the Weasel dished out, physical or no, and more.  
  
Especially with Harry Potter watching.  
  
If there was one thing that lowered him to the use of baser instincts it was the sight of Potter. After all, his policy of never allowing Potter to witness any sign of weakness on his part surely overrode that of wizarding behavioral standards?  
  
He'd shown weakness to Potter once, and only once; he never would again.  
  
In retrospect perhaps it had been a bad idea to ruthlessly taunt the Weasel about his older brother-- Peter? Paddy?-- defecting to Voldemort's side. It seemed particularly miscalculated considering that Draco's mother had insisted quite adamantly when she had dropped him off at the Hogwarts Express at the start of the school year that he keep a low profile. The wizarding society was turned against his family and their now obvious ties to Voldemort as it was, further attention would only add fuel to the fire.  
  
But the sight of Potter and Weasley, walking down the hall, smiling and chatting as if they didn't have a care in the world, had caused Draco's blood to boil; he found that he couldn't not intervene, couldn't not make an effort to wipe the smiles off of their faces.  
  
How dare they be happy while Draco's own world was turned upside-down? Worse yet, how dare the Weasel for enjoying something that should have, by rights, been his from the get-go… Potter.  
  
So yes, giving into his rage and running off at the mouth hadn't been one of Draco's better ideas, but that didn't give Weasley the right to be so barbaric about the whole thing. It certainly didn't give the student population as a whole the right to stand around watching the altercation as if it were the most amusing spectacle since last year's 'Weasley vs. Umbridge' swamp debacle.  
  
The sound of a shocked and frazzled Transfiguration Professor's voice calling out, "Mr. Weasley, Mr. Malfoy, what on earth…," interrupted Draco's 'knee-to-groin' defense tactic midair, and he could only sigh as the inevitable "Dumbledore's office, NOW!" followed that first startling exclamation shortly thereafter.  
  
His mother was not going to be pleased. Truth be told, he wasn't too pleased himself… he hadn't had the opportunity to hurt Weasley nearly enough before McGonagall had interrupted.

* * *

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was the oddest person Draco Malfoy had ever met.  
  
By all rights the man should be yelling, or at the very least exhibiting some form of blatantly obvious anger. It would have been expected, had Snape been in Dumbledore's place. Instead the old man had called Draco in and offered him tea and candy in a congenial, hospitable manner, as if Draco had been invited into the headmaster's office for a social visit instead of admittedly deserved punishment.  
To make matters worse, the obviously senile old man was eyeing Draco knowingly over crescent moon shaped glasses as if he had the power to look into Draco's very soul.  
  
And secretly, Draco wondered if the headmaster did, in fact, possess that capability. It would certainly explain a few things…like how nothing ever seemed to get past the man.  
  
As it was they were at a stand off, each gazing at the other quietly, neither looking away. Draco wondered if this was meant to be a staring contest of some sort, and if so if there was any chance in hell of winning. He figured it wasn't likely, but just as he had decided to give it his Slytherin best, the headmaster sat back and spoke, breaking the unnerving silence.  
  
"I'm sure that I don't have to inform you, Mr. Malfoy, that these are perilous times. And loathe as I feel towards the necessity of calling certain situations to your attention, you are now of a certain age. The choices you make could affect the rest of your life, rather adversely at times, particularly in regards to certain alliances," the Headmaster started diplomatically, while continuing to eye Draco in that all-knowing manner.  
  
And at the Headmaster's tentative words Draco could only roll his eyes… he should have known. In fact, a part of Draco couldn't help but wonder if Dumbledore had been sitting around since the start of the term waiting for Draco to resume his habit of Gryffindor pestering in order to get the younger Malfoy into his office to discuss _Voldemort_ of all things.  
  
Merlin but he was sick of that name. He was sick of everyone talking about it, of facing a society that had once eaten out of the palm of his hand, but now only looked at him with disdain and suspicion. He was even more sick of his father being in prison while the aforementioned, supposedly 'all-powerful' Dark Lord – whom his father and his father's friends were only now starting to realize hadn't come back entirely in his right mind - did nothing to rectify the situation.  
  
They knew that the once great name of Malfoy would undoubtedly never get it's unblemished reputation back once the war was over, especially since it looked more and more like Potter was going to win this particular campaign. After all, Voldemort hadn't managed to kill him yet - despite having ample opportunity to do so - and Potter only got more and more powerful, in his own right, with age.  
  
Damn him for that.  
  
"If you're referring to the possibility of my joining Voldemort's delegation, don't bother. I have discussed the situation with my father via post and he has agreed that it is in my best interest to stay as far away from the conflict as remotely possible," Draco announced sourly, already composing a letter in his head to his father, highlighting the inquisition he was currently enduring. Lucius would probably gather some amusement from it; he always did say that Dumbledore was completely around the bend… he would have to be, particularly to ask questions of this sort without the Malfoy family lawyer present.  
  
"Then am I to assume that your recent resumption of tormenting certain students has nothing to do with political affiliation?" Dumbledore inquired. His eyes, for some odd reason unbeknownst to Draco, twinkled with entertainment at this question.  
  
Draco certainly did not see anything humorous about the situation at all.  
  
"Oh no, my fight with Weasley was entirely personal," Draco announced before he could censor himself, pondering, shortly thereafter, if there was some type of airborne veritaserum in Dumbledore's office that tricked students into admitting things they otherwise wouldn't have.  
  
"Well, would you care to enlighten me as to the source of this conflict so that we may find a viable solution to random acts of violence?" the Headmaster asked reasonably, decisively backing Draco into a corner.  
  
He really, really, didn't want to answer that question. The answer opened too many wounds; conjured a rather hurtful memory. And besides - the old man's position as headmaster notwithstanding - it really wasn't any of his business just why Draco hated the Weasel with a fiery passion that rivaled Voldemort's hatred of, well, everybody…  
  
"He laughed at my name," Draco answered instead, cringing at the petulance evident in his tone, yet suddenly cowed by the realization of exactly who it was he was talking to... the only wizard alive that Voldemort feared. And for good reason, apparently - Draco briefly wondered if Dumbledore had tried to psychoanalyze Tom Riddle to death when he had been a student at this school… that prospect would make anyone afraid of the old man.  
  
Yet with his first admittance out in the open, Draco saw no reason to hold in the rest. Maybe it was long past time that previous grievances and rights of possession were addressed, if not for any other reason than to make certain facts known. "And if it weren't for your precious Weasley, Potter and I could have very well been friends. After all, I had met him first, prior to boarding the train to Hogwarts. It was Weasley who intervened before we could speak again, and Weasley who prevented the aforementioned alliance from occurring."  
  
Clear comprehension spread across the headmaster's countenance. Draco didn't quite understand how Dumbledore could work out the significance of a situation that happened years ago so readily when it still, to this very day, confounded Draco as to why he was so hurt by said incident… why he continued to be hurt by it.  
  
The thing was that Potter was an amazing person; everyone knew it. He made people happy. He gave pieces of himself to everyone around him daily, offering them protection, offering to take responsibility for them, all without batting an eye or even being cognizant of his actions. And he proved all the more amazing by the fact that he was utterly naive to his own charisma. Harry, it seemed, was the only one who didn't know that he was quite extraordinary.  
  
Powerful, humble little Harry Potter – the boy all claimed to know and the boy all Slytherins wanted to fuck...  
  
And Draco had met him first.  
  
It really galled at him that he recognized Potter's appeal. He wanted to despise him. He had worked really, really hard for the past five years to do just that. The thing was that, on his days of blatant self-honesty, he admitted that he couldn't. It was far easier to hate the best friend… The one who had stolen Harry away from him. The fact that this person was a _Weasley_ just made the whole hatred process that much less complicated. The Malfoys and the Weasleys had never, throughout both families lengthy history in Wizarding Britain, gotten along - the unspoken tug-of-war for the affections of Harry Potter was just another log on an already raging fire.  
  
"I see," the Headmaster responded calmly, leaning back into his chair. His finger tips touched as he eyed Draco in a distinctly calculative manner – one that had Draco instantly on edge.  
  
"Do you feel, Mr. Malfoy, that given an opportunity, - outside of extenuating circumstances, of course – that you and Mr. Potter might come to an understanding? One that would end the rivalry between you and might result in both you and Mr. Weasley acting a little more amenable to each other? Perhaps it is time that you and our young Harry spoke, just the two of you, to discuss the incident to which you're referring? I could certainly arrange something."  
  
The request, while reasonable enough, left Draco torn between wounded pride and seething anger.  
  
Dumbledore had obviously missed the point.  
  
That he and Harry Potter had unresolved issues that needed to be addressed was no simple matter. In fact, none of the animosity that existed between them could ever be cured with a simple handshake, proffered cigar and pat on the back 'I'm glad we sorted this out, jolly ol' chum' let's send owls at Christmas' - any fool could see that. It was that Potter had turned down his original offer of friendship, shredding his dignity in the process, and then had the nerve to go on and be fascinating. And that was just unforgivable.  
  
However, the opportunity to tell Potter all of that - preferably in as demeaning a manner as possible, and without anyone watching them - did seem rather appealing. That Draco could do. And if it would appease Dumbledore in the process, all the better. Wizened eyes, he knew, would be watching him closely all year long as it were - no need to add anarchy to the foray so early in the school term.  
  
He'd save that for when his father got out of prison.  
  
"Sure, whatever, tell the Boy Wonder I'd like to talk things over with him," Draco agreed with an exaggerated sigh, congratulating himself on getting out of any sort of harsher punishment.  
  
An evening with Potter he could manage… somehow.  
  
TBC  



	2. Upshot, part two

Upshot, part 2

* * *

Draco's first thought upon walking into the room to meet Potter for their first coerced peace treaty 'collaboration' was that Harry Potter had idiotic hair.  
  
Also, that his glasses were utterly hideous, and that he looked about one decade short of the much needed, in his case at any rate, high fat diet.  
  
The combination of the three made Draco quite fortunate indeed that Potter had turned him down all those years ago… or so he repeated for perhaps the thousandth time in as many years. It was all a part of his 'I don't want or need the judgmental adrenaline junkie' campaign, the success rate of which was still pending. Although Draco was certain that if he kept at it long enough he would eventually believe in it totally and when that fateful day finally happened, maybe he would be doubly blessed enough to stop noticing Potter, both good and bad traits, altogether. For nothing was more galling than the fact that - despite their rather lengthy history - Potter managed to still pique Draco's interest.  
  
Merlin, what a freak: an interesting freak, and maybe even a beautiful one - despite the aforementioned glasses and hair - but a freak nonetheless. And Potter's freak status was not alleviated, at all by the fact that said freak was currently glaring daggers at Draco accusingly.  
  
Naturally Saint Potter would blame him for this little shindig.  
  
He couldn't hold his halo'd idol Dumbledore responsible, oh no - that went against the natural order of things – so obviously it was Draco at fault. Just like Draco was at fault for Voldemort, civil unrest, and the fact that endangered dragons were being ruthlessly slaughtered for their hides. In fact, why didn't Potter just add all five goblin rebellions to the list if the Gryffindor git was so bent on passing blame…  
  
Clearly the eye roll and scowl he shot Potter in response were highly warranted, even despite mother's claim that Potter got under Draco's skin far too easily. In fact, she would have been most pleased at the restraint Draco was showing - Potter deserved much worse.  
  
And Draco was definitely not going to be the first one to speak, no matter how uncomfortable the silence, not with Potter's attitude being what it was.  
  
"You know Malfoy, I don't have all day. So just tell me whatever boldfaced lies you've come up with to appease Dumbledore, although I don't know who you think you're fooling, and let's be on our way."  
  
Right, so the gauntlet was thrown. Potter was going to be like that, was he? Well, if there was anything Draco could do, it was outwit, out-speak and out-sarcasm. Potter didn't stand a chance.  
  
"Honestly Potter, you act as if I came here on my own accord. As if I had a choice. As if I'd actually, willingly, want to spend any amount of time with you. Just to set the record straight, this was our esteemed crackpot headmaster's idea, not mine - I'm the tortured one in this little scenario."  
  
Ah, these were the moments that made life tolerable. Saying something naturally brilliant while enticing a raging, passionate, powerful Harry Potter to rise to his full fiery potential.  
  
Pansy had once told Draco she thought it mentally sick that he got such a perverse thrill out of inspiring Potter's attention in such a manner. Draco countered that she should wait until she was the continually frustrated, wrongly perceived, and otherwise bluntly ignored party - by someone as charismatic as Potter at that - and see how she handled it.  
  
Which had pretty much told her.  
  
Because when he and Potter sparred with words, there was no one else that existed but the two of them, and that was exactly how Draco liked it - perverse or not.  
  
Now all he had to do was sit back and watch Potter rise to the bait, and that part was nearly as fun as insulting the Gryffindork to begin with.  
  
Unfortunately Potter was in rare form, and merely rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as if to say 'whatever' - utterly, and rather rudely, robbing Draco of his anticipated reaction.  
  
Damn him.  
  
Clearly the use of better ammunition - out of the rather large arsenal he had accumulated over the years - was called for.  
  
"You know, neither of us would be here if it weren't for Weasley and his entirely uncivilized behavior," Draco continued coolly, inwardly gleeful. "If you insist on blaming someone, blame him. The mudblood must be having an adverse effect on him - after all, only a muggle would settle a dispute fist first… Oh, but that's right, you and those twin red-headed menaces pulled the same stunt on me last year. Well, I did warn you a long time ago about the company you keep, Potter. I suspect next year will bear witness to the lot of you eating your food with your fingers and grunting."  
  
"No, I believe Crabbe and Goyle already share the monopoly on that sort of behavior, Malfoy. Perhaps you should spend more time worrying over your own company while keeping your nose out of mine… and don't call Hermione that!"  
  
Pay dirt. There was that fire he had been aiming for. Potter really was entirely too easy. Though, admittedly, Draco wouldn't want him any other way.  
  
And his green eyes shone particularly bright when he was angry, even through those incredibly ugly glasses.  
  
Damn himself for noticing.  
  
Though he couldn't honestly say which was worse - noticing the brilliant shade of Potter's flashing eyes, or his secret admiration that Potter would get so angry on a friends' behalf. Because really, why should it matter to Potter what Draco called his book-obsessed friend?  
  
Oh, if Potter only knew… Half the things he said were for the sheer purpose of getting a rise out of Potter, anyway, and didn't stem from any real deep-seeded beliefs. Draco had eyes; he knew that Granger was quite the witch, despite her rather… unfortunate lineage. But hey, if it goaded Potter, all the better to keep right on using it.  
  
The truly depressing part was that Draco gave fuck-all what Potter said about Crabbe and Goyle. In fact, neither Potter nor his sidekicks had ever said anything about them that Draco, himself, hadn't told them to their faces, many times over.  
  
But Potter - Potter was a better friend than that to his friends. He was loyal and kind… well, at least to those he liked anyway.  
  
Which, now that Draco thought of it, came back to the original dilemma: Potter was supposed to have been his friend. That loyalty and kindness was supposed to belong to him, not some red-headed remnant of the Teutonic era and the one girl in the whole school who clearly had no life whatsoever.  
  
So yes, Potter had to go down. This meeting did have a purpose, Draco suddenly remembered - it was funny how he forgot that for awhile - but Gryffindor snobbery must be paid for tenfold; the Malfoy family pride was at stake.  
  
"I'll call her whatever I damn well please, Potter," Draco replied through narrowed eyes, "you have no say in what I do. You gave that right up years ago, when you mistakenly refused my hand."  
  
For a minute there was confusion on Potter's face, as if he were struggling to remember what in the world Draco was referring to - which only served to anger Draco further. Didn't the git even have the common decency to remember turning down Draco's poignant, wonderful, fantastically heartfelt offer?! But then recollection passed across the Gryffindor's face, followed by a look that said, in not so many words, 'dear Merlin, you're still harping about that?'  
  
And Draco, despite his flaming hot anger, was dismayed. Because obviously, what had been a turning point for Draco in his life had had no impact on Potter at all. In fact Potter treated it as if it were nothing… as if Draco were nothing.  
  
The 'why' of it all really, really bothered him. Why couldn't Potter have liked him back then? He was just a kid then, an innocent. He had done nothing at that time to have merited such hostility, other than defend himself - the Weasley had started their altercation that first time, after all.  
  
"I don't regret the decision I made then," Potter announced with utter seriousness. He left all jokes and insult trading aside temporarily, as if willing Draco to understand this point once and for all, although they had never really discussed it.  
  
Draco genuinely didn't know how the hell he was supposed to understand anything, however - the whole damn thing made no sense at all.  
  
"What do you mean you don't regret it! You turned down my offer of friendship without provocation, you prat! A little cruel, especially for you, don't you think, Potter?"  
  
The translation of which, meant 'You're supposed to be the good one, asshole, who the hell gave you the right to judge me?!' but he figured Potter got that without him having to reiterate it using foul, uncouth language to spell it out.  
  
But there was the gist of it, regardless. That Potter could befriend a loner like Granger, and an ill-bred wretch like Weasley, but not Draco, who could have - given half a chance - made just as good of a friend to Potter as the others.  
  
But the fact was, he hadn't been given that chance. Potter had never really bothered, in over five years, to try and get to know Draco at all. He had judged Draco on surface impressions alone that first day, which made the supposed 'savior of their world, defender of the downtrodden' nothing but a big, fucking hypocrite.  
  
Why did no one else see this?  
  
Gryffindors were all that was good and holy Draco's derriere. He'd seen house elves with more sense.  
  
"No, I wasn't being cruel - you were, to Ron, and I would do the same again," Harry corrected, his voice rising with passion. "The fact remains that you were then, and are now, an egotistical, arrogant, self-involved bully – a fact that you prove damn near daily. Why would I want to be friends with someone who is like that? I don't fancy waking up with a knife in my back, thank you very much."  
  
Oh, this was just too rich - Potter was blaming Draco for being defensive and hostile all these years when, in reality, it had been said savior and his dear friend Weasel who had fucking started it first!  
  
Screw uncouth language and screw Potter, too. If Potter could consistently get away with losing his temper, maybe it was high time Draco gave it a go himself.  
  
Harry Potter certainly made him mad enough.  
  
"He laughed at my name, you idiot. I was not going to stand there and take it like a fucking Hufflepuff! To think I was actually trying to impress you at the time. And furthering that note, where the hell do you get off labeling me? You don't know me, don't pretend that you do! You've only seen what I've wanted you to see... Someone who can stand up to you and your high horse when no one else is willing to."  
  
Draco had intended to rant further still but a sudden, high crash drew his attention. The pictures in the room Dumbledore had set aside for them to meet in were shaking, rattling on the walls, and if that one noise which caught his ear was any indication, a glass somewhere within the room had just shattered.  
  
Draco looked around, abruptly panicked, but one look back at Potter immediately squelched the fear that they were on the cusp of something menacing. Potter's nostrils were flared, his hands were clenched at his sides, and he was shaking in a way that suggested he was trying very, very hard to control his anger and thus his magic.  
  
Potter was actually causing this.  
  
Draco's anger temporarily gave way to awe, and not a little fear. So this is why Lord Voldemort was afraid of a mere teenager, one even younger than Draco. He had never understood that point before, despite that whole 'Patronus at thirteen, always comes back alive after skirmishes with Voldemort' thing, but he certainly got it now. In a way, Potter reminded Draco of his father.  
  
For Potter, really, truly angry, was positively scary. But he was also, strangely, all that much more attractive for it.  
  
Maybe Pansy was right. Maybe Draco was perverse and sick, because seeing Potter like this was turning him on, and he was rapidly forgetting just why it was so important that he hang on to his justifiable indignation.  
  
"I know all about people judging others based on surface impressions, Malfoy," Potter said at last, albeit through gritted teeth, while the room around them started to settle down, "and I never thought I'd hear that day when someone would accuse me of doing it. So I'll tell you what. You think I don't know you? That I'm wrongfully judging you and have been all these years, even despite your obnoxious behavior? Then show me. Go ahead and prove me wrong. I'll eat every bad thing I've ever said about you if you somehow manage to pull it off, miraculous feat that it'd be."  
  
With that Potter thrust out his hand.  
  
"Go on," he urged, "take it."  
  
And Draco, dazed by the whole affair, preoccupied by a raging rush of hormones, confused by Potter's mood swings, and secretly thrilled that it was Potter offering his hand this time, tentatively took it.  
  
To be continued...

* * *

Special thanks to everyone who responded to the last chapter, your comments were received with much love and appreciation. :-)  



	3. Upshot, part three

Upshot, part 3

* * *

Potter's friends were the most annoying people on the planet, bar none. In fact, Draco was quite convinced that they'd never be anything but annoying - as if every cell in their bodies was tied up with an 'aggravating' gene of some sort and the only way to rid them of their problem would be to eradicate them off of the planet.

Failing that, cursing them within an inch of their lives would suffice, if it weren't for the fact that doing so might put Potter off of his and Draco's 'newly appointed bosom buds' thing for life… and probably the afterlife as well.

And considering how hard it had been for Draco to actually get Potter, he wasn't about to take any chances…. or at least not until he had Potter hooked on his superior presence, wherein the two of them could then proceed to push Granger and Weasley off of a cliff together in a moment of high-spirited bonding.

But until the blessed moment, he was stuck with the Gryffindor morons.

In truth Draco had actually been looking forward to rubbing their new 'understanding' in Potter's friends faces at every possible opportunity - except when Potter was within hearing distance, of course. What he hadn't been counting on was the two of them seeking him out the same day he had met with Potter, and without even having the common decency to bring Potter along so that Draco could at least have something reasonable to look at while dealing with the idiots.

He should have figured they would pull something like this. If over five years of Potter-watching had taught him anything, it was that poor Potter didn't seem to do anything without those two freaks sticking their noses in his business shortly thereafter.

The fact that their actions had resulted, on multiple occasions, in saving Potter's life was inconsequential, since it should have been he, Draco Malfoy, doing the saving. After all, how fair was it that these two geeks got to accompany Potter on exciting adventures like chopping up giant snakes with antique swords in hidden chambers and playing air-tango with dragons, while the rest of the Hogwarts population, Draco included, had to do boring stuff like attend classes?

What made them so damn special?

If Draco had a knut for every time he had asked himself that question over the past five years he'd be even more affluent than Weasley, but as it was he was still utterly flummoxed. He wondered if prolonged exposure to Potter, and thus Potter's friends, would sort any of that out for him at all… or at the very least explain what Potter could possibly see in these two that made him want to share his giant snake-chopping experiences with them.

Lucky freaks.

Well he'd show them, because soon, very soon, Potter was going to realize just how much more suitable at giant snake-chopping Draco was than them, and Potter would drop them faster than a blast-ended skrewt. Then he would have the monopoly on Potter, as it was always meant to be.

After all, he was a Malfoy, and an only child to boot; his life wasn't about sharing. He'd accepted that about himself long ago and was at utter peace with it - as any self-respecting member of his clan would be.

Potters' shared.

Malfoys', they took.

Already he and Potter were the perfect match.

Perhaps it was time to stake his claim, as he should have done years ago - in a subtle way, of course. It wouldn't do to tell the freaks outright, they'd just go harping to Potter about it… but he had his ways; father hadn't raised a fool.

But before he could get on with it Granger had to go and open her mouth - typical.

"We know you met with Harry today, Malfoy. He told us what the two of you agreed to do. And we want to know - that is, Ron and I want to know - what are your intentions?"

And the annoyingness kept right on coming. Really, wasn't the fact that they existed enough? Did they have to speak, too? Furthering that thought, what gave them the right to be so protective of Potter, when a) Potter could clearly defend himself - his two sidekicks going behind his back to wage an unnecessary campaign was an insult to Potter's valor, and b) Potter should have been his, first?

This lot was clearly out of line.

"I plan to seduce him, take possession of his soul, and then turn it evil… just like mine," Draco responded dryly, hoping to get Weasley to turn pink, and Granger to click her tongue in disapproval.

Draco and his fellow Slytherins had a point system going on down in the dungeon based on common Gryffindor trio reactions and Granger clucking like a chicken was worth a solid five, at the very least. And if Draco was absolutely forced into a situation where he had to speak with the morons, he wanted a minimal of twenty points out of it - though it would hardly be worth the bad taste in his mouth that would likely last for days afterwards.

"I will then proceed to make him take the secret oath of the Slytherin and then induct him into our monthly rituals, such as spilling the blood of virgins - that'd be you, Granger - on the night of a full moon, while we dance around stark naked and chant to further our common goal of conjuring demonic intervention to rid the planet of Gryffindors. Is that what you want to hear?"

Draco couldn't help but mentally add a _'checkmate' _to the end of his discourse, though he recognized that voicing it out loud would just be overkill.

He'd made his point.

"I wouldn't be surprised if all of that were true," Weasley murmured darkly, glaring mightily in Draco's direction.

And, if in some other life Draco wasn't a Malfoy and a member of the one house at Hogwarts currently run by Severus Snape, he might have actually been intimidated by said glare. But as it was, he wasn't… at all.

"Don't worry, Weasley, since Granger here has already volunteered, we'll save your virgin arse for the next dastardly ritual."

If his splotchy cheeks were any indication, Weasley was about to blow his top - though unlike Potter, the red-haired freak wasn't nearly as intimidating going into it.

For a brief moment Draco wondered if Weasley was going to jump him again, and he couldn't help but be a little gleeful that he'd managed to evoke this fuming reaction twice in one week, even with the threat of a return visit to Dumbledore's office looming menacingly in the horizon.

After all, Potter couldn't possibly blame this exchange on Draco - It wasn't his fault that the scar-headed hero's friends had absolutely no appreciation at all for the fine art of sarcasm.

Honestly, Gryffindors as a whole, and these two in particular, needed to lighten the fuck up.

But before he could dwell on that fact, Granger, as always, had to go and kill the mood.

Dear gods and goddesses, how did Potter ever get a word in with this one present?

"Joke all you want, but we're being serious here, Malfoy. Harry's had a rough time recently and the last thing he needs is you playing games with him… or trying to, in the very least. You underestimate him if you think that Harry is easily fooled."

Draco's first thought in the wake of Granger's diatribe was 'no shit'. He didn't have to be a friend of Potter's to see any of that; it was visible to the entire school. Whereas Potter used to be your run-of-the mill happy kind of guy, recently he was… not so much, and that was a nice way of putting Potter's moodiness as of late. Furthering that, any idiot who had heard of Potter exploits - such as taking down two-faced-turban-wearing-freaks and the aforementioned chopping up of giant snakes - knew that he was a force to be reckoned with. Honestly, how blind did Gryffindork's think the rest of the student body was? Or the Death Eaters, for that matter? There was a reason Voldemort was rapidly losing support in his ranks, after all… not that these geeks were aware of that, however. Hell, they probably wouldn't be aware of it if it were printed plainly in one of Granger's beloved books. It would skew their own special Gryffindor worldview.

But another part of him, the part that recognized the fact that these two were people that Potter, for reasons yet unfathomable, cared about, reminded Draco to hold his temper in check. He wanted Potter, so he would serve his time - excruciating though it was.

Though sarcasm and exasperated facial expressions were still fair game. He did have a reputation to uphold, after all.

"Not that it is any of your business, seeing as how what goes on between Potter and I is exactly that, between Potter and I, but I assure you that I have no malicious intent towards our world's knighted little hero, other than the joy of such heroic companionship… and to perhaps get into his pants."

Weasley's response of a disgusted snort and sickly green flush almost made the whole exchange worth while - almost, but then Granger had to go ruin that as well.

Merlin, what a killjoy.

"Just see that you don't, Malfoy. Don't think for a moment that we trust you or that we won't be watching you closely, because we will. We care very deeply for Harry and we will stop at nothing to prevent him from getting hurt."

"Yeah, got that Malfoy?" Weasley added, apparently over his bout of disgust. "_Nothing_."

A witty retort was at the tip of Draco's tongue, even as he watched the Gryffindors turn their backs to leave, but an emotion other than extreme disgust unexpectedly welled within him, and he found himself pausing momentarily to place it.

Loneliness.

Suddenly, amidst the company of Potter's friends and their disgustingly obvious loyalty to Potter, Draco felt very lonely. And his hatred of the two Gryffindors rushing to their friend's defense swelled, just a little bit, for making him feel that way.

He wondered briefly if Crabbe or Goyle - or hell, even Zabini or Parkinson - would ever come to his defense, without Draco instructing them to do it beforehand, like Potter's friends had.

He doubted that very much, which in itself was very distressing.

What was it liked to be that loved? That genuinely adored, without fear, or money, or influence marching into the equation. Would Potter be able to show him? And if not, would Draco ever experience it for himself?

The thought made him a little sad. For as many faults as Potter's friends had - and they had many - Draco had to admit they were utterly devoted to Potter, and that that devotion was somewhat admirable.

He had a longing, equally sudden as his last inexplicable feeling, to see Potter again. Because he knew, deep down… deep, deep down, that Potter was his only tangible chance at finding it.

Although seeking Potter out, so soon after their fledgling truce, would undoubtedly seem a bit desperate.

Screw Malfoys, Draco didn't do desperate.

After all, his pride was really his best and only effective shield against the compelling presence of Harry Potter, and Draco was Slytherin, and thus savvy enough to realize it.

He wouldn't give Potter a shred of that, not yet, not until he knew he had something to gain from it - something like the support of Potter, and his truly unwavering capability to love.

Which, in the heady aftermath of dealing with Potter's friends, was his newly redefined goal.

He didn't just want Potter's friendship, or just his passion - he wanted his affection, his devotion - his capability to love that only Gryffindor single-minded determination could accomplish.

Until then Draco would have to survive on saving face any which way that he could.

"So that's this weekend, alright Granger? Make sure to wear something white, it adds to the 'pure of heart, holier than thou' look. And tell Harry to stop by beforehand, will you? He'll have to brush up on his chants. Hell, he and I might even have time for a quickie before the naked dancing gets underway…"

The tensing of the two backs walking away from him was all that Draco needed to leave the 'altercation' with a smile, his day infinitely brightened.

It served the freaks right for trying to get between a Malfoy and the last word.


End file.
